THE  GREY  FEET 
OE  THE  WIND  X 

CATHALCHBYRNE 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Robert  B.  Campbell 


The 

\ 

Grey  Feet  of  the  Wind 


Poems  by 
CATHAL  O'  BYRNE 


New  York 
Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company 

Publishers 


Printed  by 
The  Educational  Company  of  Ireland 

at 

THE  TALBOT   PRESS, 
89  Talbot  St..  Dublin 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword  vii. 

The  Grey  Feet  of  the  Wind  1 

The  Fairy  Well  of  Slemish  3 

The  Man  who  went  the  Roads  6 

A  Silent  Mouth  8 

How  Diarrnuid  got  his  Love-spot  10 

The  Mother  o'  Shaun  13 

Away  from  Ireland  15 

Grainne.     After  the  Death  of  Diarmuid  18 
When  Seumas  Mac-an-Ree  played  "The  Coulin"    22 

The  Boy's  Mother  Speaks  24 

Tara  of  the  Kings  25 

The  White  Road  to  Ireland  30 
Lament  of  a  Fishergirl  for  her  Drowned  Lover       32 

The  Wanderer  34 

My  Share  o'  the  World  35 

The  Drowned  Fisherman  37 

White  Rose  of  the  World  39 

To  Eire  of  the  Sorrows                ,  42 

A  Donegal  Hush  Song  43 

O,  Friend  of  my  Heart  45 

When  I  shall  come  to  You  46 

In  Ireland  (To  D.R.T.)  49 

The  Other  Life  51 

Spring  55 

A  Dream  56 

The  Joy  of  Giving  58 

The  Song  o'  th'  Say  59 

V, 


963271 


vi.  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Thanksgiving  61 

Emer  at  the  Grave  of  Cuchulain  62 

Spring  in  the  City  64 

Eire's  Awakening  66 

The  Quickenberrieis  of  Dooros  68 

The  Primal  Silence  70 

Daffodils  73 

Asthoreen  74 

The  Woe  of  all  the  World  77 

NOTES  79 


FOREWORD. 

The  Grey  Feet  of  the   Wind  sweep  o'er 

the  bending  grasses, 
Down  the  bright  meadows  in  the  breezy 

noon, 
Leaving  behind  them  where  each  light  foot 

passes 
The  track  of  their  Silver  Shoon. 

So  through  the  dim-lit  aisles  of  Memory's 

Garden 
The  Grey  Winds  go  dream  laden,  crooning 

some  old,  dear  tune, 
To    where    the   Seneschal,    My    Heart,   a 

Happy  Warden 
Keeps  each  Remembered  Rune. 


A  few  of  the  poems  in  this  volume  are  re- 
printed from  THE  LANE  OF  THE  THRUSHES. 
The  others  have  appeared  in  the  following 
papers  and  magazines,  and  through  the 
courtesy  of  the  Editors  and  Proprietors  are 
republished  here:  "The  Messenger"  (New 
York),  "America"  (New  York),  "The  Gaelic 
American"  (New  York).  "The  New  York  Kven- 
ing  Times,"  "The  Sunday  Times"  (New  York), 
"Ave  Maria"  (Notre  Dame,  Indiana),  "The 
New  World"  (Chicago),  "The  Southern  Cross" 
(Buenos  Ayres),  and  "The  Westminster 
Budget"  (London). 

For  musical  rights  apply  through  the 
Publishers. 


THE    GREY    FEET   OF    THE    WIND, 

I  FOLLOWED  in  the  track  of  the  Grey  Feet 
of  The  Wind, 

Where  Black  Clouds  ran  across  the  Moon 
adown  a  Sullen  Sky 

Like  a  Herd  of  Frightened  Cattle  with 
Harrying  Wolves  behind 

And  dark  pines  stretched  gaunt  arms  ta- 
me as  I  went  shuddering  by. 

Past  many  a  Grey  Cairn  Stone  I  went — 

the  mad  wind  whistling  on— 
With  the  Dead  Dust  of  Years  clogging  my 

eyes  and  breath, 
Till  White  Spears  flashed  in  the  East,  and 

the  Red  Wind  of  Dawn 
Fanned  into  flame  the  Passion  Fires,  the 

Fires  of  Life  and  Death. 
1 

(D338)  B 


.2      THE  GREY  FEET  OF  THE  WIND 

On  where  Night's  dream  fires  are  quencht, 

and  Dawn's  wide  gates  unclose, 
Through  cool  white  mists  of  Morning,  out 

from  the  World  away, 
'To  where  the  Sapphire  turns  to  Flame,  the 

Ruby  burns  in  the  Rose, 
And  the  Silver  Bars  that  are  tipped  with 

Stars  melt  in  the  Heart  of  Day. 

I  followed  in  the  track  of  the  Grey  Feet 

of  The  Wind, 
'0,  Dew-wet  Wind  of  Morning,  what  word 

have  ye  to  say  ? 
O,  Life  is  bitter,  and  Love  is  sweet,  and 

only  Death  is  kind, 
For  Life  is  Hope,  and  Love  is  Life,  and 

Life  is  Death  alway. 


THE    FAIRY    WELL    OF    SLEMISH. 

TWAS  the  grey  of  the  evening  when  Shaun 

came  over 
The  mountain's   shoulder   by   Torloch's 

Tower, 
Like  clustered  pearls  lay  the  dew  on  the 

clover, 

One  pale  star  burned   thro'   that  dew- 
grey  hour. 

He  came  to  the  Fairy  Well  of  Slemish, 

In  the  cool,  green  moss  like  a  gem  it  lay ; 
And  he  thought  of  the  girl  without  blame 

or  blemish, 

The  dark,  proud  girl  who  had  said  him 
"  Nay." 

3 


4  THE  FAIRY  WELL  OF  SLEMISH 

He  stooped   to  drink  of  the  sweet  well- 
water  ; 

To  the  moss  grown  stones  he  bent  a  knee. 
'  Oh,  sweet  as  the  kiss  of  a  High  King's 

Daughter, 
Is  the  Well  of  Forgetfulness,"  said  he. 

; '  Oh,  sweeter  far  than  the  sweet  well  water 
Are  the  lips  of  Love,"  said  a  voice,  and 

he 
Looked  up   and  beheld  the  High  King's 

Daughter, 
Of  Tir-na-noge  in  the  Realms  of  Shee. 

"Drink   three  deep   draughts,"   said   the 

High  King's  Daughter, 
"And  the  wish  of  your  heart  I  can  give," 

said  she, 

"  Oh  I  have  drunk  deep  of  the  sweet  well- 
water, 

And  the  wish  of  my  heart  is  yourself," 
said  he. 


THE  FAIRY  WELL  OF  SLEMISH  3 

He  kissed  her  lips,  as  the  poppies  scarlet, 
He  made  her  heart  on  his  heart  to  lie, 

While  a  rain  of  tears  that  one  gold  star 

let 
Fall  thro'  the  dusk  down  the  opal  sky. 

Then   away   with   them   over   the   purple 

heather, 

By  dark  fir-wood  and  by  starlit  brae; 
Their  silvery  laughter  ringing  together 
And  nor  sight  nor  sign  of  them  since 
that  day. 


THE    MAN    WHO    WENT    THE 
ROADS. 

I  DANCED  on  a  day  in  Connacht 

By  the  cross  in  a  market  square, 
And  the  young  girls  came  to  the  doorways, 

A  piper  was  playing  there. 
And  an  old  man  praised  my  dancing, 

Said  it  was  just  to  his  mind, 
Oh !  'twas  good  to  be  dancing  in  Connacht 

Out  in  the  sun  and  the  wind. 

I  told  a  story  in  Leinster 

To  a  man  at  a  wayside  gate, 
Of  Da  Derga  and  Emain  Macha, 

And  Tara's  sorrowful  fate. 
But  the  man  looked  out  o'er  his  pastures, 

His  face  never  lost  its  gloom, 
Ochon !  but  Leinster  is  lonely 

And  cold  as  an  empty  room. 
6 


THE   MAN  WHO  WENT  THE  ROADS  < 

I  made  a  poem  in  Munster 

When  the  dreams  in  my  head  ran  wild, 
'Twas  where  a  turf  fire  smouldered 

And  a  woman  sang  to  her  child 
At  the  end  of  an  Autumn  evening 

After  the  bit  and  the  sup. 
My  hand !     Tis  a  Munster  welcome 

For  lifting  a  lad's  heart  up. 

I  sang  a  song  in  Ulster 

In  the  narrow  streets  of  a  town, 
And  the  people  passed  sullen  and  silent — 

Some  looked  at  me  with  a  frown. 
But  a  young  man  praised  my  singing, 

Said  it  was  grand  and  the  like, 
And  put  his  arm  round  my  shoulder — 

'Twas  a  song  of  a  gun  and  a  pike. 


A    SILENT    MOUTH. 

O  LITTLE  green  leaf  on  the  bough,  you  hear 

the  lark  in  the  morn, 
You  hear  the  grey  feet  of  the  wind  stir  in 

the  shimmering  corn, 
You  hear  low  down  in  the  grass 
The  singing  Shee  as  they  pass; 
Do  you  ever  hear,  O  little  green  flame ! 
My  loved  one  calling,  calling,  whispering 

my  name? 

0  little  green  leaf  on  the  bough  like  my 

lips  you  must  ever  be  dumb, 
For  a  maiden  must  never  speak  till  Love 

to  her  heart  says  "  Come!" 
A  mouth  in  its  silence  is  sweet, 
But  my  heart  cries  loud  when  we  meet, 
And  I  turn  my  head  with  a  bitter  sigh, 
When   the  boy   who  has   stolen  my  love, 
unheeding  goes  by. 
S 


A   SILENT    MOUTH  9 

I  have  made  my  heart  as  the  stones  in  the 

street  for  his  tread, 
I  have  made  my  love  as  the  shadow  that 

falls  from  his  dear  gold  head. 
But  the  stones  with  his  footsteps  ring, 
And  the  shadow  keeps  following, 
And  just  as  the  quiet  shadow  goes  ever 

beside  or  before 
So  must  I  go  silent  and  lonely  and  loveless 

for  ever  and  evermore. 


HOW   DIARMUID    GOT   HIS   LOVE- 
SPOT. 

CONAN  and  Osgar  and  Diarmuid  slept 
Sweetly   and   soundly   without   dream   or 

fret, 

Until  a  great  light  gleamed  in  the  chamber, 
As  if  a  torch  to  the  roof  were  set. 

And  they  wakened  wide-eyed,  and  wonder- 
ing, saw, 

Like  a  yellow  star  through  the  purple 
gloom, 

In  her  young  youth's  beauty,  without  robe 
or  raiment, 

A  maiden  standing  within  the  room. 

And  the  flame  of  her  loveliness  glowed  and 

shone, 
And  her  shadow  lay  o'er  the  rush-strewn 

space, 

10 


HOW  DIARMUID  GOT  HIS  LOVE-SPOT       11 

Like  a  shining  candle,  where  no  light  was 

burning, 
Her  hair's  bright  radiance  filled  the  place. 

For  a  while  she  stood  by  the  bed-post  tall, 
Nor  eye  that  had  seen  could  ever  forget, 
Then   like  a   pink  shell  on   a  foam-crest 

tossing, 
She  slipped  'neath  the  light,  white  coverlet. 

Then  Conan  stood  out  on  the  rush-strewn 

floor, 
And  his  heart  was  glad  with  love's  sweet 

pain, 
:'  Go  back  to  your  bed,"  said  the  maiden 

gently, 
'  I  belonged  to  you  once,  but  can  never 

again." 

Then  Osgar  stood  out  on  the  rush-strewn 

floor, 
"  And  where  are  you  going?"  the  maiden 

said: 


12       HOW  DIARMUID  GOT  HIS  LOVE- SPOT 

'  I've  a  mind  to  go  where  my  heart  is 

going"  : 

"  I  belonged  to  you  once,  but  that  day  is 
dead." 

Then  Diarmuid  stood  out  on  the  rush- 
strewn  floor, 

' '  And  where  are  you  going  ?  O,  Man  of 
Truth ! ' 

I  may  not  be  yours  for  the  having  or  taking, 

I  belonged  to  you  once,  my  name  is  Youth. 

'  But  come  and  kneel  by  the  bed-post  here, 
And  I'll  put  a  love-spot  upon  your  face; 
That,  seeing  once,  no  woman  forever 
Shall  love  withhold  for  a  moment's  space." 

Then  she  put  her  hand  'tween  his  level 

brows, 
And  she  sighed  as  she  placed  the  mark 

above, 

Maybe  she  dreamed  of  his  great  undoing 
By  the  gift  unsought,  of  a  woman's  love. 


THE    MOTHER    O'     SHAUN. 

SHAUN  stood  six  feet  or  so,  with  his  head 

up  near  the  rafter, 

He  be  to  stoop  when  he  came  in  the  door, 
Shuttin'  out  the  sunshine,  but  his  cheery 

hearty  laughter 
Brought  more  brightness  than  the  streak 

o'  light  that  lay  along  the  floor. 
And  ye'd  think   it  was  a  hive  o'  honey 

bees  among  the  heather. 
Or   ye'd   think   it   was    a   ring    o'     bells 

through  sunny  summer  air, 
An'  ye'd  maybe  think  'twas  bees  an'  bells 

amoiderin'  together. 
But  it  be  to  be  his  heart  that  made  the 

music  everywhere. 
13 


14  THE    MOTHER    O'    SHAUN 

An'  I  wish  I'd  see  him  standin'  in  the 

shadow  there  above  me, 
And  see  his  white  teeth  gleam,  his  blue 

eyes  glow, 
Though  the  other  boys  are  near  to  me  to 

cheer  me  an'  to  love  me. 
Shaun    had   the   hearty   ways    with   him 

they'll  never,  never  know. 
But  the  big  worl'  called  him  always,  its 

wonder  called  him  loudly, 
So  he  bent  his  head  with  his  loving  kiss 

beneath  the  lintel  low. 
An'  I  prayed  "God  guard  him  always  " 

an'    I    prayed    "God    bless    him" 

proudly, 
I'm  his   mother,   ye'll  be  mindin',   an'   I 

knew  he  be  to  go. 


AWAY    FROM    IRELAND. 

THOUGH  I'm  far  and  very  far  away  from 

Ireland, 
There's  a  knot  of  purple  thistles  on  a  cliff 

above  the  sea, 
Like  a  silver  censer  flaming  between  the 

sky  and  me, 
The   blood-red    bells    of    fuchsias    swing 

around  a  cabin  door, 
Where  the  yellow  sunlight  showers  down 

to  flood  the  earthen  floor, 
Far  away,  and  very  far  away  in  Ireland. 

Though  I'm  far  and  very  far  away  from 

Ireland, 
There's  a  grey  rock  'mid  the  heather  where 

the  bees  hum  all  the  day, 
Adown  its  mossy  shoulder  trails  a  crimson 

briar  spray, 

15 


16  AWAY  FROM  IRELAND 

Like  a  craobh  of  ancient  Ogham   locked 
beneath  Time's  magic  key, 

But  the  beauty  of  its  message  is  as  clear 

as  dawn  to  me, 
Far  away,  and  very  far  away  in  Ireland. 

Though  I'm  far  and  very  far  away  from 

Ireland, 
There's  a  turf  cart  standing  idle  in  a  quiet 

village  street, 
The  hens  roosting  on  its  axle  in  the  shadow 

from  the  heat, 
There's  a  barefoot  boy  beside  it  looking  out 

towards  the  sea. 
And  the  birds  have  far  more  trouble  for 

the  morrow's  morn  than  he, 
Far  away,  and  very  far  away  in  Ireland. 

Though  I'm  far  and  very  far  away  from 

Ireland, 
If    the    black    hand    of    misfortune    had 

gripped  my  heavy  heart. 


AWAY  FROM  IRELAND  17 

If  the  red  blisters  of  disgrace  had  made 

my  pale  cheek  smart, 
I'd  little  heed  the  trouble  or  the  blame  that 

lay  on  me, 
If  climbing  on  a  white  road  between  golden 

whins  I'd  be 
Far  away,  and  very  far  away  in  I  r  eland  „ 


(D338) 


GBAINNE. 
AFTER  THE  DEATH  OF  DIARMUID. 

FORTH  from  the  twilight  of  a  wood  she 

came, 
Where  blossoming  isles  of  purple  hare-bells 

gleamed, 
Set   in   a  shimmering,    sunflecked   sea  of 

green. 
Fair  was  her  face  as  the  deep  rose  of  the 

dawn, 

And  lithe  her  form  as  the  lake  grasses  tall, 
That  whispered  of  her  beauty  to  the  breeze, 
Tear-stained  her  cheeks — rock  roses  washed 

with  spray, 
Great  haunting  memories  dwelt  of  happier 

days 

Deep  in  the  shadowy  depths  of  her  sad  eyes, 
Her  hair  flowed  down,  a  gleaming  golden 

wave, 

18 


GRAINNE  19 

O'er  snowy  fold  and  fold  of  her  white  robe, 
Like  sun-kissed  water  on  a  silver  strand, 
Its  ripples  streaming  on  a  soft  west  wind, 
Were  mirrored   in   the  wide,   weed-laden 

lake 
Where  she  passed  by.     The  silent,  sleepy 

birds, 
Thinking  the  sun  had  backward  from  the 

West 
Turned  in  his  course,  and  with  his  shafts 

of  gold 
Had  stabbed  the  heart  of  the  dim,  silent 

pool, 

Burst  into  music,  and  a  shower  of  song, 
Fell  through  the  leaves  to  greet  this  new 

day  star. 
Twin  dew-wet  quickenberries  were  her  lips, 

one  word, 
Came  through  their  rosy  portals,  "  Diar- 

muid," 
It  rang   adown  the  dusky,   flower-strewn 

glades, 


20  GRAINNE 

Through  aisles  of  forest  trees,  of  mighty 

oaks, 

Of  quivering  aspen,  and  of  silver  larch, 
And  stately  giant  pines,  and  hazel  groves; 
The  melody  of  murmuring  waters  caught 

the  sound, 
And  chaunted  "  Diarmuid"  to  the  mossy 

stones. 
Down  to  the  depths  of  the  calm  woods  it 

sank, 
And  up  through  arching  green  to  the  broad 

sky, 

Through  traceries  of  bronze  and  blue  above, 
And  far  beneath  of  glimmering  gold  and 

green, 
The  Nightingale  caught  up  the  new,  sweet 

sound, 

And  for  an  instant  held  it  in  her  throat, 
Then  flung  it  on  the  silence  of  her  bower, 
Where  as  it  fell  it  burst  in  silver  rain, 
And  scattered  to  the  winds  its  sparks  of 

song. 


GRAINNE  21 

The  myriad  songsters  caught  the  glittering 

drops, 
And  flying  with  the  gems  throughout  the 

wood, 
Sang  "Diarmuid"  in  silver  syllables,  till 

the  notes, 
Forming   one   grand,    sweet   chord,    went 

echoing 
Through   the  vast   aisles   and  gold-green 

garden  ways, 
And    all    the    wood    rang    sweet    with 

"  Diarmuid," 

Until  the  hills  in  pity  sent  the  name 
Back   to  the  forest's  fringe  whereat   she 

stood. 

And  it  at  length  found  its  true  resting- 
place 
Deep  in  the  inmost  core  of  her  lone  heart. 


WHEN      SEUMAS     MAC-AN-REE 
PLAYED     "THE     COULIN." 

A  SECRET  heavy  sighing  stirred  the  naked 

trees 

That  leaned  to  listen  there  in  Cushendall, 
Sharp  and  grief -laden  was  the  wet  sea- 
breeze 
Like  slender  arrows  whistling  in  their 

fall. 
And   as   about   the  strings   the  bow   was 

curled 

Love  sobbed  its  woe  out  in  a  dirge  of  pain, 

A  woe  that  held  the  weight  of  all  the  world 

Of  love  that  had  been  spilt  in  golden  rain. 

And  in  it  was  the  cry  of  every  Gael 
That   ever   yearned,    the   sund'ring   sea 

between, 
With  outstretched  arms  to  raise  the  misty 

veil 

That   hung   between   him    and    "  Dark 
Rosaleen" 

22 


WHEN   SEUMAS   PLAYED         THE   COULIN 

The    singing   waters    mingled    with    the 

strain, 
Tumbling  afar  down  steep  Lurgaidan's 

side, 
And    soft    as    southwinds    through    the 

ripened  grain 

Low  through  Glenariff's  glens  a  Banshee 
cried. 

'Tis  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin"  sigh  the 

strings, 
The  foam- fringed  wave  turns  back  to  kiss 

the  shore, 
A   swift,   unbidden  teardrop   smarts  and 

stings, 

A  silence  long  and  deep,  the  song  is  o'er. 
'Twas    Ireland's    sad    fate    was    in    the 

wailing — 

A  chain  of  melody  that  holds  her  soul — 
A  song,  a  tear,  and  exile  ships  a-sailing — 
A  wan  face,  patient-eyed,   seeking  the 
promised  goal. 


THE    BOY'S    MOTHER    SPEAKS. 

IF  the  Three  Blisters  of  Disgrace  were  on 

his  face, 

And  his  face  is  like  the  sun, 
I  would  efface  each  trace  from  its  place 

With  my  kisses,  one  by  one ! 
If  his  head  were  bowed  with  dread  and  woe 

and  shame, 

And  his  head  is  like  dull  gold, 
I'd  forget  the  guilt  and  shame,  and  bear  his 

share  of  blame, 
For  to  love  is  to  forgive  when  all  is  told. 


24 


TAEA    OF    THE    KINGS. 

IN  the  great  Hall  of  Tara  of  the  Kings, 
Whose  fourteen  doors  stood  ever  open  wide, 
With  fourteen  welcomes  to  the  night  and 

day, 
The  feast  was  set.     White  torches  flared 

around 

From  niches  in  the  pillars  of  red  pine, 
On  Gallant  Chiefs  and  Queenly  Women 

there. 
The  warm  light  glanced  and  shone  on  the 

red  gold 

Of  the  rich  battle  gear  of  Er inn's  Men, 
And  on  the  gleaming  mail,  and  wolf  skin 

cloaks 
Of   the   sea-roving    Giants  of    the   Loch- 

lanachs, 
Strong-limbed  and  fierce  were  they,  with 

eyes  that  held 
25 


26  TARA  OF  THE  KINGS 

The  cold,  blue  sheen  of  star-lit  northern 

deeps, 
And  teeth  that  gleamed  through  flowing, 

tawny  beards. 
The   tables   groaned  beneath   the  mighty 

weight 
Of  ponderous  vats  of  rare  and  precious 

wines, 

And  carcases  of  oxen  roasted  whole, 
Methers  of  foaming  mead  went  gaily  round 
From  lip  to  lip,  and  friend  and  foe  alike 
Ate,  drank,  and  quaffed  their  brimming, 

golden  cups, 

Forgetting  for  the  moment  every  wrong 
That  ever  held  them  sundered.     Such  the 

law- 
No  man  might  draw  his  sword  in.  Tara's 

Hall, 

In  anger  on  another  man,  and  live. 
Then,  when  the  feast  was  ended,  and  the 

Bards 


TARA  OF  THE  KINGS  27 

And  Ollavs  skilled  in  Erinn's  ancient  lore 
Stood  in  a  white-robed  throng  around  the 

Throne 

Then  was  it  that  a  silence  deep  as  death 
Fell  on  that  mighty  crowd.     Outside  the 

wind 

Stirred  in  the  quicken  trees,  and  to  and  fro 
As  if  by  fairy  hands,  the  banners  waved, 
And  from  the  farther  end  of  the  great  Hall 
A  silver  rivulet  of  music  flowed 
Into  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  place. 
Faintly  at  first  and  sweetly,  like  the  song 
Of  sunbright  waters,  rang  the  Harp's  clear 

sound ; 

Louder  and  louder  yet  the  music  swelled, 
As  Bard  and  Bard,  and  Bard  took  up  the 

strain, 

And  all  the  burthen  of  their  thrilling  song 
Was — Tara  and  the  glory  of  its  Kings. 
Of  Fiann  and  his  Matchless  Men  they  sang, 
Of  the  red  rout  of  battle,  and  great  deeds 
Of  skill  and  daring  on  the  tented  field. 


28  TARA  OF  THE  KINGS 

And  then  the  music  took  a  softer  sound — 
'Twas  Deirdre's  sad  tale  the  Minstrels  told, 
And  the  dread  fate  of  Usnach's  hapless 

sons, 

A  dirge  of  sorrow,  wailful  and  desolate — 
The  saddest  tale  the  world  had  ever 

heard,— 
The  women  listened  with  bright,  dew-wet 

eyes, 
And  stern-brow'd  warriors  stood  grim  and 

mute 

Instinctively  each  hand  went  to  its  spear, 
And  a  low,  sorrowful  murmur  like  a  caoine 
Thrilled  through  that  mighty  crowd, 
Still  the  Harps  sobbed,  and  still  the  Bards 

sang  on, 
Until  with  one,  grand,  maddening  crash 

they  tore 
A  mighty  chord  from  out  the  quivering 

strings, 
And  the  sad  tale  was  told.      Adown  the 

Hall 


TARA  OF  THE  KINGS  29 

The  murmur  grew  to  a  tumultuous  sound; 
The  music's  fire  had  quickened  hearts  and 

brains, 
Shield    clanged    in    meeting    shield,    and 

through  the  gloom 

The  torches,  in  a  myriad  points  of  light, 
Flashed  on  bright  skians  and  forests  of 

grey  spears, 

Until  the  swelling  chorus  thundered  forth, 
In  one,  great,  sonorous,  deep-throated  roar 
Of  wild  applause,  its  mighty  meed  of  praise 
That  echoed  through  the  dome  of  the  great 

Hall, 
And   floated    through    its    fourteen   open 

doors. 

Out  and  away  into  the  silent  night, 
Startling  the  Red  Deer  from  his  ferny  lair, 
In  the  green   woods  round   Tara  of  the 

Kings. 


THE    WHITE    ROAD   TO    IRELAND. 

OCH,  the  weary's  on  you,  London, 

With  your  hot  streets  all  ablaze, 
In  a  rain  o'  yellow  sunshine, 

And  the  drought  o'  summer  days, 
Sure  I  mind  me  well  a  white  road 

That  goes  westward  to  the  sea, 
And  the  white  road  to  Ireland 

Is  the  right  road  for  me. 

I'm  not  mindin'  o'  the  money, 

Here  it  falls,  they  say,  like  rain, 
But  who'd  be  thinkin'  o'  the  likes 

That  longed  for  home  again? 
So  tie  up  your  kerchief,  Maurya, 

And  we'll  foot  it  to  the  sea, 
For  the  white  road  to  Ireland 

Is  the  right  road  for  me. 
30 


THE   WHITE   ROAD   TO   IRELAND  31 

There's  a  brown  road  in  Ireland, 

An'  my  grief,  'tis  steep  an'  bare, 
But  through  the  misty  sunshine 

Tis  we'll  be  climbin'  there. 
Do  you  hear  the  curlew  callin' 

As  he  points  out  to  the  sea  ? 
Ah,  the  brown  road  in  Ireland 

Is  the  road  for  you  and  me. 


LAMENT    OF    A    FISHERGIRL    FOR 
HER     DROWNED     LOVER. 

THERE'S  a  grey  cloud  hanging  o'er  Rath 

Cruachan, 
Where  the  grey  rocks  are  grinning  through 

the  heather, 

And  there  is  no  sunlight  on  the  hill-roads 
Where  we  two  climbed  yesterday  together. 

The  hill-winds  are  moaning  like  the  ocean, 
The  flame  of  the   gorse  has   burned  low 

down, 
But   there   are   three   tall   white   candles 

burning 
Where  you  lie  dead  and  cold  in  Galway 

town. 

32 


LAMENT  OF  A  FISHERGIRL 

There's  a  dark  cloud  o'er  Connacht  of  the 

grey  stones, 

Through  a  wet  mist  the  boats  put  out  to  sea,. 
And  there  is  no  dancing  now  nor  laughter, 
There's  a  grey  stone  where  my  heart  used 

to  be. 

The  lark  is  silent  now  above  the  heather,. 
There  is  silence  on  the  mouth  my  mouth  has 

kissed, 
And  the  yellow  light  falls  where  you  are; 

lying, 
But  the  grey  cloud  is  round  me  like  a  mist. 


(D  338) 


THE    WANDERER. 

SLANTING  rain  and  white  mist  falling 
Over  the  lonely  moorland  track, 

Through    purple    shadows    a    grey    bird 

calling — 
Ever  calling  the  "Wanderer  back. 

Slanting  rain  and  west  wind  sighing, 
Out  of  the  hills  with  an  eerie  throb, 

Lone,  grey  raths  and  a  Banshee  crying, 
Caoining  softly  with  many  a  sob. 

Slanting  rain  and  a  wide  grey  ocean, 
Where    the   gaunt   ship    waits    like    a 

spectral  bier, 

Shadowy  waters  in  ceaseless  motion, 
And  grief  for  a  Heart- friend  through 
many  a  year. 


MY     SHARE     0'     THE     WORLD. 

MY  Share  o'  the  World, 

With  your  brown-head  curled — 

Close  to  my  fond  heart  so  cosily, 
To  the  island  of  dreams, 
'Neath  the  pale  moonbeams, 

You've  flown  on  the  wings  of  the  Sluah 
Shee. 

On  the  yellow  strand 

Of  that  bright  dreamland, 

Where  day  dies  never,  you'll  wander  free 
Till  your  boat  of  pearl — 
Like  a  silver  curl 

On  the  green-streamed  sea,   bears  you 
back  to  me. 

35 


36  MY   SHARE  0'   THE  WORLD 

Then  safe  on  my  bosom, 
Oh,  pink- white  blossom! 
You'll  rest  till  the  night's  dark  wings  are 

furled, 

When  the  dawn  of  your  sleeping — 
A  blue  eye  peeping, 

Shall  greet  me,  a  leanniv,  My  Share  o' 
the  World. 


THE     DROWNED     FISHERMAN. 

Because    of    your    love,    0,    Padraic    A- 

Hartigan ! 
Tis  like  some  God-forgotten  star  I  am  this 

many  a  day, 
Though  the  life  is  left  within  my  breast, 

'tis  my  heart  that  is  far  away, 
For  your  bed  is  the  ocean's  bed — a  wraith 

on  a  sullen  sea, — 
And  the  white  bird's  call  in  the  darkness 

brings  your  cry,  your  cry  to  me. 

My  sorrow  and  my  sorrow,  0,  Padraic  A- 

Hartigan  I 
My  seven  curses  upon  the  ocean,  and  my 

curse  on  its  many  ills, 
For  'tis  I  that  loved  the  mountains,  God's 
own  grey,  kindly  hills, 
37 


38  THE  DROWNED  FISHERMAN 

But  the  sea  kept  a-calling,  a-calling  you, 
— 'twas  the  woe  o'  the  Banshee's  cry, 

And  I  see  in  my  dreams  the  storm-tossed 
boat  and  a  wan  face  drifting  by. 

Youth  o'  my  heart,  0,  Padraic  A  -Hartigan ! 
The  day  is  dreary,  the  night  is  long  when 

the  bay  with  mist  is  hid, 
And   the  clank  o'   oars   in  the  gloaming 

sounds  like  clay  on  a  coffin  lid; 
By  the  swell  o'  ground  seas  'cross  the  bar, 

through  the  years  shall  your  caoine 

be  cried, 
And  never  till  storm  and  waves  are  stilled 

shall  the  tears  in  my  eyes  be  dried. 
Youth,    o'    my    sorrow,    0,    Padraic    A- 
Hartigan ! 


WHITE    ROSE    OF    THE    WORLD, 

//  thou  wert  mine, 

I'd   weave   three    robes    of    cloud    and 

glistening  dew 
Warp  of  white  mist  and  woof  of  sunset 

hue, 
With  apple  blossoms,  faintly  red,  and 

musk, 

I'd  strew  the  ways  that  lead  into  the  dusk 
Of  deep,  cool  woods,  where  dewy  fern 

frond  curls, 
Would  scatter  'neath  thy  feet  a  shower 

of  pearls, 
And  steel  the  moonlight's  sheen  from  the 

dim  lake, 

To  pave  a  silver  path  for  thy  dear  sake, 
39 


40  WHITE  ROSE  OF  THE  WORLD 

If  thou  wert  mine, 

I'd  captive  make  the  voice  of  every  bird, 
And  wed  to  each  the  sweetest,  fondest 

word — 
Thy  name, — that  when  they  sang  their 

song  should  be, 

Linked  with  a  chain  of  melodies  to  thee, 
I'd  pluck  from  out  the  day  its  brightest 

hours, 
Wreath    them — a    diadem    of     fairest 

flowers, 
When  night  should  come  with  sable  wings 

unfurled — 
To  crown  thy  brow,  O,  White  Eose  of  the 

World. 

Jf  thou  wert  mine, 

I'd  seize  the  wind  (O,  throbbing  wind  of 

sorrow, 
Vex  not  her  soul  with  whisperings  of  the 

morrow) 
I'd  garner  up  the  radiance  of  the  morn, 


WHITE  ROSE  OF  THE  WORLD  41 

The  wonder-music  of  the  rustling  corn, 
To  fashion  fairyland — the  world  apart — 
And  when  'twould  fade,  I'd  house  thee  in 

my  heart. 
No  impious  hand  this  shrine  of  thine 

could  shatter 
O,  face  divine,  O,  voice  as  singing  water — 

//  thou  wert  mine. 


TO    EIRE    OF    THE    SORROWS. 

DEAREST,  when  all  is  done  and  all  is  said, 
When  from  Thy  head  the  Crown  of  Thorns 

is  flung, 

I  shall  be  happier  looking  on  that  Crown 
To  think  that  not  one  word  of  all  I  sung 
Or  said,  had  helped  to  press  it  down 
Or  bowed  in  deeper  woe  Thy  Dear  Dark 

Head. 


42 


A    DONEGAL    HUSH    SONG. 

GOD  bring  you  safe  from  the  death  sleep 
of  night, 

A  Leanniv  Machree, 
My  Heart's  Delight, 
From  the  green-hill'd  homes  of  the  Sluah 

Shee, 

O'er  the  purple  rim  of  a  star-lit  sea. 
Through  a  leafy  lane,  o'er  Moy  Mell's  plain, 
Where   dew-drops   strung  on   a  gossamer 

chain, 

From  blossomy  boughs,  swing  to  and  fro, 
And  a  round,  red  moon  hangs  low,  so  low — 
God  bring  you  safe  through  the  Night  to  me. 
My  Heart's  Delight, 
A  Leanniv  Machree. 


43 


44  A  DONEGAL   HUSH    SONG 

God  bring  you  safe  from  the  death  sleep  of 
night, 

A  Leanniv  Machree, 
My  Heart's  Delight. 

From  the  grey  world's  edge  where  the  rose- 
dawn  sleeps, 
Through  the  white,  dream  gates  where  the 

shy  day  peeps. 

Down  the  silver  track  of  the  Morning  Star, 
To  the  yellow  strand  where  the  white  cliffs 

are, 

Where  each  fairy  foot  in  a  fairy  brogue 
Is  hastening  away  to  Tir-na-noge, 
God  bring  you  safe  to  the  Dawn  and  me 
My  Heart's  Delight, 
A  Leanniv  Machree. 


O,     FRIEND     OF     MY     HEART. 

O,  FRIEND  of  my  Heart : 
Like  the  swish  of  the  wind  in  the  rustling 

grass,  like  the  rhythm  of  a  star, 
Like  a  singing  stream  to  a  thirsty  soul  in 

a  desert  place  lonely  and  far. 
Like  the  deep-throated  music  of  thrushes 

in  the  windless  quiet  of  days 
Is  the  breath  of  your  praise. 

0,  Friend  of  my  Heart ! 
Tis  a  debt  I  pay  in  this  telling  for  hours 

of  delight, 
To  lay  my  wreath  of  bays  at  your  feet  I 

would  climb  afar  to  your  height, 
I  would  talk  the  flints  with  a  terrible  joy, 

if  at  the  journey's  end, 
I  would  greet  you,  0  Friend! 


45 


I  SHALL  come  to  you,  dear, 
In  the  green  o'  the  year, 
With  the  breeze  on  the  lake, 
With  the  bird  in  the  brake, 
When  the  hedges  are  gay 
With  the  white  o'  the  May; 
I  shall  come  to  you  bringing 
The  glad  summer's  singing 
With  the  lark's  silver  trills, 
With  the  light  on  the  hills, 
And  the  blue  in  the  valleys, 
When  through  shadowy  alleys 
Of  shimmering  larches 
And  sweet  woodbine  arches, 
We  shall  walk  as  of  yore 
O'er  the  emerald  floor 
46 


WHEN   I    SHALL    COME    TO   YOU  47 

Of  the  dim  woods,  inlaid 
With  the  jasper  and  jade 
Of  the  green  light  that  falls 
Through  the  aisles,  o'er  the  walls 
Of  the  dark  leafy  fane, 
Weaving  shadow  and  light 
Weaving  day  into  night 
With  warp  of  gold  glances 
And  woof  of  green  lances, 
With  the  pearl  of  pale  moons 
To  the  rune  of  old  tunes. 
With  bronze  of  dark  stems, 
With  the  fringe-bordered  hems 
Of  the  pine  groves  that  trail 
Their  green  robes  down  the  vale 
Through  briar,  brake  and  fen 
I  shall  come,  dear,  again, 
When  the  hedges  are  gay 
With  the  white  o'  the  May, 
I  shall  come  to  you  bringing 
The  glad  summer's  singing, 


48  WHEN   I    SHALL    COME    TO    YOU 

With  the  gold  iris  bending 

'Tween  the  stream's  song  ascending; 

To  the  song  of  the  breeze 

In  the  low-drooping  trees 

When  the  wood-doves  are  gay 

And  our  hearts  glad  as  they, 

In  the  green  o'  the  year 

I  shall  come  to  you,  dear. 


IN    IRELAND. 

(TO  D.  R.  T.) 

WHAT  is  it  you  miss,  0  friend  of  my  heart, 

there  by  that  arid  strand, 
Where   Nilus    drags    its    sun-swept   way,. 

'tween  level  banks  of  sand? 
Is  it  the  shadow  of  clouds  of  mist  that 

shimmer  and  shine  as  they  pass, 
Is  it  the  swish  of  the  slanting  rain  in  the 

long  lush  wayside  grass- 
In  Ireland? 

Do  you  miss  'mid  the  brazen  sunshine,  and 

the  glorious  afterglow, 
The  deep  blue  of  our  valleys,  the  light  that 

our  dear  hills  know  ? 
Do  you  miss  'mid  the  clamour  and  bustle 

of  the  city's  echoing  ways, 
The  hush  of  a  loch  where  the  dragon  flies 

dart  through  the  soft  summer  haze — 
In  Ireland? 
49 

(D  3381  E 


50  IN  IRELAND 

Do  you  miss  the  long,  low  wash  of  the  waves 

and  the  silence  that  follows  after, 
Do  you  miss  the  startled  sea-bird's  note,  the 

blackbird's  chatter  and  laughter, 
And,  oh,  do  you  miss  the  kindly  hearts  of 

the  friends  that  you  love  so  dear, 
Who  with  straining  eyes  and  eager  arms 

are  waiting  to  welcome  you  here- 
in Ireland? 


THE     OTHER    LIFE. 

"  The  little  stone  of  truth  rolling  through  the 
many  ages  of  the  world  has  gathered  and  grown 
grey  with  the  thick  mosses  of  romance  and  super- 
stition. But  tradition  must  always  have  the  little 
stone  of  truth  for  its  kernel,  and  perhaps  he  who 
rejects  all  is  likelier  to  be  wrong  than  even  foolish 
folk  like  myself,  who  love  to  believe  all,  and  who 
tread  the  new  paths,  thinking  ever  of  the  ancient 
stories." 

'Tis  but  a  vain,  unreal  thing,  and  yet,  and 

yet 
Is  it  that  I  remember  dimly,  or  but  half 

forget 
That  other  Life  that  comes  in  dreams  to 

me 
Over  the  Hills  of  Silence  from  an  unknown 

sea? 
It  seems  of  old  I've  wandered  through  a 

land 

51 


52  THE  OTHER  LIFE 

Whose   gates   of   pearl  ope   on   a   golden 

strand, 
And  the  far  spreading  boughs  of  blossomed 

trees 

Cover  the  sward  with  shimmering  traceries ; 
Where  feathery  grasses  fringe  dark  pools 

— a  dream — 
Across  whose  placid  bosoms  white  winga 

gleam, 
And  days  drift  by  as  dreams  across  the 

night- 
Swift  days   that  end  in   long   nights   of 

delight. 
In  days  long  dead  I've  roamed,  and  by  my 

side 
Was     Emer    of    the    Faithful     Heart — 

Cuchulain's  bride, 

No  longer  mourning  for  her  valiant  Hound, 
For  close  about  his  neck  her  arms  were 

wound, 
And    Meave   of    Cruachan,    dark-browed, 

mighty  queen, 
Her  crimson  mantle  trailing  o'er  the  green, 


THE  OTHER  LIFE  53 

Passed  onward  with  a  gracious,  shadowy 

smile, 

And  a  Brown  Bull  lowed  deep  in  a  wood- 
land aisle, 
Beneath  the  quicken  trees  where  Grainne 

laid, 
Her  lips  to  Diarmuid's,  and  with  that  kiss 

betrayed 
Her  lover  and  her  lord;     I  walked  with 

Niav, 

Ere  yet  she  drew  sad  Oissin  o'er  the  wave — 
Niav   of   the   golden   head   and   witching 

words, 
Whose   voice    had    caught    the    tones    of 

Angus'  birds. 

In  that  old  life  when  love  itself  was  life, 
I've  lived   and  loved   and  gloried  in   its 

strife. 

Perchance  I  do  but  dream,  and  at  the  ford, 
Never   fell  Ferdiad  by  his  heart-friend's 

sword : 


54  THE  OTHER  LIFE 

Perchance  I  do  but  dream,  and  Deirdre 

never 

Of  all  sad  songs  sang  yet  the  saddest  ever ; 
Perchance  I  do  but  dream — and  yet, — and 

yet, 

Is  it  that  I  remember  dimly,  or  but  half 
forget  ? 


SPRING. 

A  SLENDER  blade  of  grass  beside  a  stone, 
A  gleam  of  sunshine  'tween  the  narrow 

roofs, 

A  solitary  seed  of  grass  wind  sown 
Beneath  the  trampling  of  impatient  hoofs. 
The  happy  children  in  the  windy  street 
Play  Ring  o'   Eoses,   gambol,   laugh  and 

sing. 
Across  the  blue  a  flash  of  wings — tweet  I 

tweet ! 
And  so  'tis  Spring. 


55 


A    DREAM. 

IT  was  fanned  of  unseen  fires, 
The  fires  that  chasten  and  smart. 

Of  my  seared  soul's  white  flame, 
And  the  red  flame  of  my  heart. 

Of  the  fierce  white  heat  of  Youth, 
And  the  glow  of  its  passion  fire 

Youth,  the  Dreamer,  who  fashions 
And  colours  the  Heart's  Desire. 

With  dead  dreams  half  forgot 

The  living  ore  was  wrought 
Till  it  shaped  itself  in  my  heart, 

Took  form  and  came  forth — a  Thought. 

It  burned  as  a  star  in  the  dark 

In  its  travail  hour  of  birth, 
As  a  diamond  deep  in  the  womb 

Of  the  fruitful  red-brown  earth. 
56 


A  DREAM  57 

Like  a  rhythm  of  joyous  sound, 
Like  a  gleam  of  tremulous  light, 

It  fell  on  men's  wond'ring  ears, 
It  glowed  and  sang  in  their  sight. 

They  pondered  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
They  sundered  it  part  from  part, 

The  song  that  was  half  my  soul, 
The  word  that  was  all  my  heart. 

"He  has  lost  the  Clue,"  they  said — 
"  The  Clue  and  the  Golden  Key." 

But  it — it  was  all  my  life 

For  it  came  from  the  Soul  o'  Me. 


THE     JOY     OF     GIVING. 

GIVE  of  the  gold  whereof  your  heart  is 

made 
To  those  poor  bankrupt  ones  who  have 

no  store 

Of  love  or  joy  or  hope,  whose  sorry  trade 
Is   digging  in  the  dust-heaps   for   the 
phantom  ore. 

Give  your  tears'  balm  to  every  lonely  soul 

Who  yearns  for  a  dead  day,  a  little  while 

When  Death  shall  add  a  name  to  the  long 

roll 

You  can   then   answer  with   a  tearless 
smile. 

Give  loving  faith  and  truth  and  sympathy 
To  those  who  in  the  furnace  have  been 

tried, 

And  you  shall  walk  in  beauty  and  shall  see 
Life,    Love    and    Death    by    gladness 
glorified. 

58 


THE     SONG     0'     TH'     SAY. 

NIGHT  an'  morn  it's  on  me,  this  wearyin' 

for  th'  say 
An'  th'  swish  o'  breakers  an'  th'  clank  o' 

oars  in  Inver  Bay; 
Tis  a  sin  to  be  grievin',  they  tell  me,  but, 

sure,  'twas  God  above, 
That  put  in  my  heart  th'  song  that  fills  it 

with  longin'  an'  love. 

Many's  th'  year  since  I  left  it,  th'  home  so 

purty,  so  poor, 
An'  took  th'  windin'  casaun  that  led  to  th' 

worl'  across  th'  moor, 
But  first  I  went  down  th'  beach  to  kiss  th' 

ledge  by  th'  shore, 
Ah,  God !  I  can  feel  th'  salt  on  my  lips  th' 

day  an'  evermore. 
59 


60  THE   SONG  0'   TH'   SAY 

A  'kerchief  o'  spotted  red  held  all  my  store, 

an'  a  shell, 
An'  a  song  o'  th'  say  within  it,  th'  music  I 

loved  so  well; 
Now  when  th'  childre  are  weary  I  take 

them  up  on  my  breast, 
An'  th'  song  that  th'  shell  keeps  singin' 

soothes  each  weeshy  head  to  rest. 

'Tis  many's  th'  year,  an'  I'm  thinkin'  will 

th'  longing  ever  be  stilled, 
For  I'm  here  in  th'  lonely  city  yet,  an'  my 

dream  is  unfulfilled. 
But  though  'tis  years  since  it  sang  to  me, 

my  heart  knows  that  some  day, 
When  life  is  over,  as  th'  voice  of  a  lover, 

I'll  hear  th'  song  o'  th'  say. 


THANKSGIVING. 

THANK  God  for  the  Trees  and  the  Flowers 

And  the  Blue,  Blue  Sky, 
Thank  God  for  the  Happy  Hours 

And  Hope  that  can  never  die. 
Thank  God,  though  the  Way  be  long 

For  Joy  when  the  Journey  ends, 
Thank  God  for  the  Gift  of  Song, 

And,  0 !  Thank  God  for  my  Friends. 


EMER  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF 
CUCHULAIN. 

%  "  Love  of  my  life,"  she  said. 
As  she  went  down  into  the  new-made  grave, 
And  laid  her  mouth  close  to  his  cold  mouth, 
And   never    did   sweeter   blossoms    swing 

together 
In     the    honey-sweet    and    breath-warm 

breezes  of  the  south. 

"  My  friend,  my  sweetheart"  she  sa'id, 
And  the  beauty  of  her  warmed  the  cold, 

dead  clay, 
And  her  voice's  music  filled  Death's  lonely 

house, 
And  her  white  arms,  like  swans  through 

sunny  waters 
Tossed  her  hair's  golden  spray  above  his 

breast,     and    o'er    his    death-dark 

brows. 

62 


EMER  AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  CUCHULAIN   63 

'  My  one  choice  of  Erinn's  men,"  she  said, 
As  she  laid  her  length  along  that  narrow 

place, 

With  bitter  crying  and  with  many  a  moan, 
And,  'twas  what  she  said,  twining  his  dead 

arms  around  her, 

'  Since  you  are  gone  from  me,  there  is  no 
word  better  with  me  than,  ochon!" 


SPRING    IN    THE     CITY. 

"  THERE'S  a  breath  of  Spring  in  the  air 

to-day" 

Called  out  my  neighbour  across  the  way, 
And    the    words    with    their    gladdening 

message  wound 

Through    the    city's    hollow    with    joyous 
sound. 

Down  the  echoing  street 
Came  flying  feet, 

And  daffodils  leaned  from  a  window  sill, 
Where  the  merry  children   laughed  loud 
and  shrill, 

Youth  and  Joy, 
A  girl  and  a  boy, 
With  a  hoop  and  a  ball 
And  a  whoop  and  a  call 
64 


SPRING  IN  THE  CITY  65 

To  the  sunbeams  and  breeze,  all  friends- 
together 

Went  dancing  into  the  wine-like  ether, 
And  my  heart,  atune,  sang  adown  the  way 
To  the  Yellowbill's  note  on  the  topmost 

spray, 
And  my  soul  seemed  aglow  at  the  greeting 

gay, 

"  There's  a  breath  of  Spring  in  the  air 
to-day." 


D338) 


EIKE'S    AWAKENING. 

SAW  you  the  Wraith-light  flicker  and  fail, 
Men  of  the  Glens,  through  the  blinding 
sleet? 

Saw  you  a  cloud  o'er  the  grey  sky  sail, 
And  wrap  the  day  in  its  winding  sheet  ? 

Heard  you  the  roar  of  the  tempest's  breath, 
Lashing    the   waves    in    its    passionate 
scorning  ? 

Felt  you  the  stillness  as  deep  as  Death? 

'Twas  but  the  Hour  of  our  Eire's  mourning. 

Heard  you  the  woe  of  the  Caoiner's  tale, 
Men  of  the  Glens,  in  your  eerie  shieling  ? 

Heard  you  the  sound  of  the  Banshee's  wail, 
You  of  the  Hills,  o'er  the  upland  steal- 


ing? 


66 


EIRE'S  AWAKENING  67 

Saw  you  the  wan  light  grey  and  cold 
Break  in  the  East,  at  the  Day  Star's 

peeping  ? 

Saw  you  his  glory  of  crimson  and  gold  ? 
'Twas  but  the  Hour  of  our  Eire's  sleep- 
ing. 

Heard  you  a  song  by  a  Siren  sung, 

Men  of  the  Glens,  through  the  woodland 

ringing, 
In  the  liquid  tones  of  the  Gaelic  tongue, 

Sweet  as  the  sunlit  streamlet's  singing? 
See  you  a  myriad,  stern-brow'd  men, 
The  very  earth  'neath  their  grand  tread 

shaking  ? 

Seeking  the  Singer  through  brake  and  fen, 
This,   this  is  the  Hour  of  our   Eire's 
waking. 


THE      QUICKENBERRIES     OF 
DOOROS. 

THE  Quickenberries  of  Dooros 
Hang  heavy-clustered,  dull  red  as  drops 

of  blood, 
Crimson     amongst     green     branches, 

scarlet  against  the  sky, 
And  who  shall  taste  of  their  magic  shall 

know  all  evil  and  good 
Him    shall    no    power    destroy,    nor 
sorrow  nor  scaith  come  nigh. 

I  walk  through  low,  grey  meadows,  and 

ever  a  kind  one  stoops 
To  lead  me  to  higher  pastures,  sun- 
lighted,  shadow- for  got, 
Where  the  pines  trail  feathery  robes  and 

the  heavy  fruitage  droops, 
Where  the  olden  silence  is  flowing  and 
the  waves  of  time  beat  not. 
68 


THE  QUICKENBERRIES  OF  DOOROS          69 

I  have  known  the  laughter  of  Love  and 

have  seen  the  folly  of  Hate 
Clear  as  the  stars  that  travel  the  dome 

of  God's  floor  o'erhead, 
I  laugh  at  the  little  ways  of  Men,  the 

pigmy  antics  of  Fate, 
For  I  dream  old  dreams  of  delight  and 
live  in  days  that  are  dead. 

The  Quickenberries  of  Dooros 
Hang  heavy-clustered,  dull  red  as  drops 

of  blood, 
Crimson  amongst  green  lances,  scarlet 

'mid  bronze  and  gold, 
And  who  shall  taste  of  their  magic  shall 

know  all  evil  and  good; 
Him  shall  no  fret  disturb,  he  shall 
laugh  when  the  world  is  old. 


THE    PRIMAL    SILENCE. 

(A     FRAGMENT.) 

WHEN  Satan  laughed  behind  the  apple-tree 
In  Eden  was  heard  no  more  of  Melody, 
A  midnight  silence  fell  across  the  noon, 
From  grove  and  glade  rang  out  no  sweet 

bird-tune, 
Deep   in   the  flowering  grasses   brute  by 

brute, 
Lay  still  as  death,  the  singing  streams  were 

mute, 
And  where  the  reeds  and  brook-fed  rushes 

swayed, 

The  minstral  breeze  no  wonder-music  made, 
The   soaring   lark,   poising   on   tremulous 

wing, 
Dropped  from  the  sky,  a  songless,  silent 

thing, 

70 


THE   PRIMAL   SILENCE  71 

And  where  a  melody  of  waters  played, 
Silence  a  finger  on  their  glad  lips  laid, 
And    when    thro'    the    great    hush    that 

laughter  jarred 
Man  blushed  for  shame  of  that  hour  evil 

starred, 

And  hid  himself  in  silence,  sore  afraid, 
Dreading  to  hear  the  Voice  of  Him  who 

made 

The  glad  days  of  the  World,  and  every  leaf 
That  covered  him  to  hide  his   fear  and 

grief, 
And  every  beast  and  bird  and  blade  of 

grass 

Each  living  thing  that  in  the  Garden  was 
Each  tree  and  flower  and  stem  and  seeding 

pod 

Listened  to  hear  the  awful  Voice  of  God, 
Then   where   an   Angel   stood   with  fiery 

sword 
Bearing  aloft  the  Mandate  of  the  Lord, 


72  THE   PRIMAL   SILENCE 

Two  crouching  figures  passed,  and  the  red 

sun 

Sank  on  that  Day  of  Doom  into  oblivion, 
And  God  hung  out  a  branch  of  silent  stars 
Beyond  that  Portal's  menace  of  Red  Bars, 
Where,  to  the  awful  vastness  of  dim,  silent 

spaces, 

The    Wanderers     turned     their     sorrow- 
stricken  faces. 


DAFFODILS. 

CAVALIERS  out  of  the  Age  of  Gold 
Why  come  ye  trooping,  a  myriad  fold? 
Gaily  riding  adown  the  years 
With    golden     helmets     and     grey-green 
spears. 

Wherefore,  0  Gallants,  brave  and  bold, 
Ride  ye  out  of  the  Age  of  Gold 
Into  a  world  so  cold  and  grey? 
Way,  for  the  Golden  Men,  make  way! 

Speed  ye  forth  at  some  King's  behest, 
Or  some  high,  noble  and  knightly  quest? 
To  succour  and  save  in  this  forest  shady 
Some  high-born  captive  lady. 

We  come  at  the  call  of  our  Ladye,  Spring. 
Largess  of  gold  for  grace  we  bring, 
To  her  Court  we  ride  over  mead  and  wold, 
Heralding  in  the  Age  of  Gold. 


73 


ASTHOREEN. 

OH,  the  hills  are  fair  in  Erin,  green  and 

gold  each  towering  crest, 
And    the    laughing    streamlet    flashes 

through  the  heather  in  its  glee. 
And  the  nursling  of  the  waters  on  its  ocean 

mother's  breast 
Is  cradled  to  the  music  of  the  sunbright 

sea; 
And   I  look  across  the  valley  where  the 

reaper  'mid  the  grain 
To  the  swinging  of  his  sickle  sings  a 

careless,  happy  tune. 
And  I  wonder  if  in  Erin  we  shall  ever  meet 

again 

When  the  throstle's  note  is  heard  among 
the  glancing  green  of  June. 
Asthoreen !  Asthoreen ! 
74 


ASTHOREEN  75 

Heed  you  not  my  sad  heart's  pleading? 
It  goes  out  across  the  green  sea  that  for- 
ever lies  between, 
And  the  burthen  of  its  message  that  the 

breezes  bear  unheeding  : 
Shall  we  meet  again  in  Erin  when  the 
hills  are  fair  and  green? 

Oh,  the  hills  are  green  in  Erin,  and  the 

fragrant  breezes  blow 
Through  the  tangled  briar  and  bracken 

where  the  fairies  vigil  keep  : 
Gleam  the  ruddy  quickenberries  'gainst  the 

azure  sky  aglow 
Sweet  as  blushes  red  and  radiant  on  the 

cheek  of  child  asleep. 
And  my  heart  is  filled  with  gladness,  and 

the  earth  with  joy  is  teeming, 
And  my  eager  eyes  look  out  beyond  the 

green  sea's  crystal  sheen; 
For  the  sigh  of  breeze  and  song  of  bird  and 
sunlight  softly  streaming 


76  ASTHOREEN 

All  say  we'll  meet  in  Erin  when  the  hills 
are  fair  and  green. 

Asthoreen !  Asthoreen ! 
Heed  you  not  my  glad  heart's  swelling? 
It  goes  out  across  the  green  sea  that  for- 
ever lies  between, 
And  the  burthen  of   its  message  to   the 

breezes  I  am  telling  : 
We  shall  meet  again  in  Erin  when  the 
hills  are  fair  and  green. 


THE    WOE    OF    ALL    THE    WORLD. 

THERE  is  no  beauty  in  the  world — Deirdre 
being  dead — 

And  Ferdiad's  white  limbs  hid  in  the  red- 
dening stream. 

The  birds  of  Angus  only  know  Moy  Mell, 

And  earth's  old  ways  are  desolate,  now  men 
save 

And  hoard  the  joy  and  laughter  of  their 
lives 

To  lavish  tears  alone  on  what  they  love. 

Oh,  I  have  sat  with  friends  throughout  fair 
hours 

And  laughed  and  sang  and  watched  their 
faces  glow 

Like  happy  children  round  a  ruddy  fire. 
77 


78     THE  WOE  OF  ALL  THE  WORLD 

And  I  have  seen  those  faces  pale  and  set 
When  a  sad  viol  through  the  silence  sobbed, 
And  looked,  to  see  men's  souls  laid  stark 

and  bare 

In  their  own  sight,  to  their  great  wonder- 
ment 
When  the  sweet  music  trembled  and  died 

out, 

And  I  have  seen  the  crimson  wave  of  dawn 
Cast  up  the  beautiful,  white  corse  of  day 
Before  a   careless  crowd,   and  while  the 

laugh 
And  song  alternate  flowed  from  wine  wet 

lips, 
Have    seen    the    tears    for    youth's    lost 

fragrant  grace 
Slow  coursing  down  the  fair  cheek  of  a 

friend. 


NOTES 

How  Diarmuid  got  his  Love-Spot. 
Diarmuid  ever  after  wore  a  cap  to  conceal  his 
love-spot,  but,  oiice  in  endeavouring  to  separate 
the  hounds  that  were  quarrelling  over  the  remnants 
of  a  feast  at  Tara,  his  cap  fell  off,  whereupon 
Grainne  saw  the  mark  and  gave  him  her  love.  She 
persuaded  him  to  fly  with  her  from  Tara,  and  it 
was  while  defending  her  from  a  wild  boar  on  the 
mountain  of  Ben  Bulban  that  he  received  his  death 
wound. 

Grainne.  After  the  Death  of  Diarmuid. 
Grainne,  the  daughter  of  King  Cormac,  was 
betrothed  to  Fionn  Mac  Cumhal,  but  falling  in 
love  with  Diarmuid  O'Duibhne,  a  Captain  of  the 
Fianna,  persuaded  him  to  elope  with  her.  The 
"  Pursuit  of  Diarmuid  and  Grainne"  by  the 
vengeful  Fionn  forms  the  subject  of  one  of  the 
Bardic  tales  of  Erinn.  Diarmuid  was  killed  by 
a  wild  boar  in  the  Woods  of  Ben  Bulban. 

When  Seumas  Mac-an-Ree  played  "  The  Coulin." 
Jimmy    Mac    Ilroy,    a    traditional    fiddler    of 
Cushendall,  Co.  Antrim. 

The  Boy's  Mother  Speaks. 

When  Meave  sent  out  the  Druids  and  the 
Satirists  to  bring  Ferdiad  to  fight  against  his 
friend  and  companion,  Cuchulain,  she  told  them 

79 


80  NOTES 

if  he  would  not  come  to  raise  the  three  blisters  of 
disgrace  on  his  face,  Shame  and  Blemish  and 
Reproach,  so  that  if  he  did  not  die  on  the  moment, 
he  would  be  dead  at  the  end  of  nine  days. 

My  Share  o'  the   World. 
The  Sluah  Shee  is  the  Fairy  Host. 

A    Donegal  Hush  Song. 

Moy  Mell  is  the  Honey-sweet  Plain  of  Fairy- 
land. 

Emer  at  the  Grave  of  Cuchulain. 
Emer   was   the  beautiful   and   devoted  wife  of 
Cuchulain,  the  Hound  of  Ulster. 

The  Quickenberries  of  Dooros. 
It  was  to  the  Forest  of  Dooros  Diarmuid  and 
Grainne  fled  for  refuge  when  pursued  by  Fionn, 
following  their  flight  from  Tara.  Thither,  too, 
the  incensed  Leader  of  the  Fianna  and  his  followers 
penetrated,  and  nearly  every  incident,  tragic  or 
romantic  which  ensued,  is  associated  with  the 
quickenberries,  or  berries  of  the  rowan-tree,  which 
in  Druidic  times  bore  a  mystic  significance. 

The  Woe  of  all  the  World. 

The  kisses  of  Angus,  the  Irish  god  of  Youth  and 
Love,  turned  to  white  birds  which  circled  about  his 
head.  Angus  Og,  son  of  the  Dagda,  was  the  Irish 
Hermes,  and  master  of  many  arts. 


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